


The Face in the Mirror

by betawho



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: The Day of the Doctor, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betawho/pseuds/betawho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was the War Doctor thinking when he met his future selves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Face in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This is partially based on the Deleted Scene from the 50th Anniversary Special.

“Really? You’re both me?”

He had a hard time believing it, he’d apparently regenerated young, and boy-band cute. Twice.

“Am I having a midlife crisis?”

He couldn’t believe how they reacted when he stepped forward. How could they be him, and yet have the instinct to draw a gun? Even after centuries of war he still disliked pointing guns at people. What had happened to him?

Was this what the Moment interface was talking about, what he would turn into?

Insecure, prone to meeting fear with violence? Surely not.

—————

“The shoes bring the cool!” his pinstripey self said. “You wouldn’t understand the cool.”

“You couldn’t handle the cool,” his bow tie wearing incarnation sniped back.

He was accustomed to being a bit of a braggart, but this was something else. “Not since Richmond!” And that was a long way in ankle chains. “They haven’t drawn breath since Richmond!”

Being chained up was no new experience. Being shoved into a cell was almost comfortingly familiar.

But sharing a cell with two future versions of himself was downright odd. Even for him.

Especially these two. They never shut up. They never stopped moving. They paced and sniped and one-upped each other at every turn. There was no peace in them. No quietness.

It was like they’d reverted to adolescence. Is this what the war does to him?

“What is it that makes you so ashamed of being a grown up?” he asked in exasperation. He’d always _liked_ being a grown up. With occasion fits of kicking the Tardis when she was being stubborn, but still.

The looks they turned and gave him. A sliver of cold ran down his spine. The accusation in their gazes. His own gaze.

Is that what he becomes? To himself? Something to dread?

He watched them argue. The one who regrets, and the one who forgets. One wallowing in guilt, the other refusing to look back, because he couldn’t stand what he’d see.

Him. This him.

He stared at his future. Young, good looking, and broken.

No.

—

* * *

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